


The Son of Booth

by khonsu



Category: Bones (TV), Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Lie to Me (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-01-31 09:18:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18588301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khonsu/pseuds/khonsu
Summary: In Washington DC Xander Harris gets badly beaten when he is saving Emily Lightman from a serial rapist. Xander loses his memory and since has no ID they take his fingerprints and DNA, which matches Seeley Booth as his father.There are two reasons why I made Xander an amnesiac.Firstly, like most of the abused children, Xander has a low opinion about himself. I wanted to give him a chance to be the boy/man he could be if his parents had not hammered it into his head that he is a worthless waste of space.Secondly, now that he has no memories I can make him ask the stupid questions that comes to my mind when I'm watching American TV-series or Hollywood movies.DISCLAIMER:Series trademarks, all publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is not in any way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise, and makes no money from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.





	1. Prologue and Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander Harris loses his memory, gets a job from Lightman Group and finds out that Special Agent Seeley Booth is his father. 
> 
> In this chapter, I'm wondering why the exterior doors in the TV and movies seem to open inward. It does not make any sense to me.

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

****

****  


The streets of Washington DC were teeming with people, and Xander was getting bumped all the time. He kept his left hand in his pocket, holding the roll of bills so that none of the people bumping on him could steal it. In Oxnard, he had learned that he didn’t hate stripping for a nightclub full of wild and drunken women who cheered at him. After he’d paid for the repairs of his car he’d stopped in Las Vegas. He had been paid well in Oxnard, so Xander hoped that in the City if Sin he’d earn even more.

And he’d been right, three weeks as a male-stripper in Las Vegas and he had enough earned almost enough to visit all states. (He would never tell anyone that most of the money he had earned stripping to all-male audiences.) He even had bought a plane ticket to Hawaii. Which was why he now was in Washington District of Columbia—which wasn’t a state, but it still was on his list—he had just sold his car, and tomorrow he would fly to Hawaii where his former boss at Las Vegas had arranged a job as a stripper. Xander had been surprised that Willow had not corrected him about driving to all states, but, maybe his best friend just thought that he didn’t know where Hawaii was. He planned to stay two weeks in Hawaii and then he’d fly to Alaska, buy a car and continue his road trip from there. 

Xander hadn’t gotten far from the motel when he heard screaming and, instead of calling cops as a normal person would have done, Xander ran straight into the dark alley and crashed into a girl who was running out of the alley. Seeing the big man behind her, Xander readied to fight him. He expected the man say something as always was the case with the vampires, but the guy punched Xander in the face. Whining in pain Xander's Hellmouth honed surviving instincts kicked in; he hit the man twice, breaking his nose. 

Xander turned to the girl. “Run!” He said wondering why in the hell victims always stayed to watch the fight. Wouldn’t it be common sense to run away as fast as they could?  
Xander felt pain in his side and cursing his stupidity for taking his eyes off the opponent he turned back to the big man, who now had a bloody knife in his hand. The man lunged forward and slashed Xander's side again, but, at the same time, Xander slammed fist in his face. The man staggered a few steps and Xander kicked the knife out of his hand. 

The man punched Xander in the ribs, knocking the wind out of him and then he kicked his leg. Xander cried in pain as his leg broke. He dropped down to his knee and again cried in pain. As his smirking opponent carelessly approached him, Xander’s fingers curled around the hilt of the man’s knife h found on the ground.

The big man took a fistful of Xander’s hairs and pulled his head back raising his fist. The brass knuckle flashed on the streetlight. “I’m gonna enjoy beating you to a pulp,” the mugger said.

“Idiot,” Xander muttered and jammed the blade into the side of the big man at the same moment when the brass-knuckled fist hit his face. Sharp and piercing pain slashed through Xander’s body, and he fell into a blissful state of unconsciousness.

~~∞~~

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

He woke up in a hospital bed, dazed and aching all over. There were a nurse and a doctor in the room. The nurse leaned to him. “Don’t try to get up, just open your mouth,” she said.

He opened his mouth and moaned in pleasure when he tasted the cold water in his dry mouth. He drunk hungrily for a moment, then the nurse pulled the water bottle away. 

“How badly hurt am I?” He asked with raspy and strangled voice.

“Very badly, we had to do emergency surgery to save your life,” the doctor said. “It will take a long time for you to recover, but I’m happy to say that you, most likely, will make a full recovery.”

“Okay, then I should thank you for saving my life.”

“You are welcome,” the doctor said. “I'm Doctor Pollard. What is your name?”

“What?” He asked.

“My name is Ed Pollard. What’s yours?”

He frowned and moved his head to look out of the window, for some reason he felt safe as the morning sun shone into the room. He tried to remember what his name was. When he realized that he had no idea what his name was he turned back to the doctor. “I don’t know.”

“Oh,” The doctor said and wrote something on the pad on his hand. “Do you know the date?”

“No.” 

The doctor nodded. “Who is the president?”

“I don’t know,” he frowned, “I don’t even know in what country this is. But we are speaking English, aren’t we?”

“Yes, we are, and it is your native language,” the doctor said.

“How can you tell?”

“You have a Californian accent,” the doctor said, and then he asked a few more questions that he didn’t know the answer and then he did some tests. “We have to make some more tests but, it seems that you have amnesia.”

“Okay,” He said. “What’s amnesia?”

“You have lost your memories.”

He nodded. “So, do you know what’s my name?”

“No, you were found under a dead man dressed only t-shirt and jeans. No wallet, no jacket, even your shoes, and socks had been taken.”

He looked at the doctor for a moment, wondering why it didn’t bother him that he’d been found with a dead man? He was sure that it should have bothered him. “A dead man? Did I know him?”

“No, I don’t think you knew him. We know that you fought him. The cops have an eyewitness, the young woman who called 9-1-1. She told officers that you saved her life. Most likely you killed the man in self-defense, but police are eager to talk to you, but that has to wait,” he said. “What do you remember of the battle during which you were injured?”

He frowned. “I have no memories of fighting anyone,” he said and after a long pause continued, “I don’ have any memories about my life prior waking up in this bed. None whatsoever, but, for some reason, I’m thinking: ‘Great, I have amnesia, I really am the butt monkey of the universe.’”

The doctor chuckled. “Well, that at least is connected to your personality.”

During the next week, he was told that above all the physical damage he also had brain damage. The doctors had no idea if he would ever get his memories back. He could only hope that someday he would remember who he was. He could speak, read, and write English, Greek, and Latin—which implied that he was well-educated—and he had the High School subjects covered, but he didn’t know what the High School was. 

His whole life was gone, and there was an only black hole in its place.

More the doctors and psychiatrists studied him, more they tested him, more he felt as if the void inside him was only become wider and threatening to swallow him as a whole. Nine days he had been in the hospital when a scruffy man with more than a three-day stubble walked into his room. He was in his forties, medium height, with a trim figure and a confident bearing. His pale skin and dark outfit contrasted sharply. John tensed, having a feeling that he was a dangerous man. But when he walked to the window, his face covered with the setting sun, John relaxed. 

Apparently, the man had been told that John wanted people who came to meet him to stand in the sunlight. John had no idea why seeing people in the sunlight made him relax, but the hospital staff had already accepted it as one of his peculiarities. The man then walked up to him and slumped down on a chair. “My name is Cal Lightman,”

“I don’t know my name, but the nurses call me John Doe,” John said. “Is Cal short for Calvin or Callahan?”

“No, just Cal,” he said. 

John nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Lightman.”

“Doctor Lightman, actually, but call me Cal. You saved my daughter from rape, and for that, I’m grateful.”

John raised his eyebrow at that; the man was lying about being grateful. “You’re welcome, although, I have no memory of the incident,” he said.

“So, I have been told,” Cal said staring at him. “Are you pretending or is your amnesia real?”

John tilted his head, he had sensed and even heard the doubts of the medical staff that had examined him, but Cal Lightman was the first one to ask him. “My amnesia is all too real,” he said. 

Cal frowned. “Say that again.”

“My amnesia is all too real.”

“Interesting,” Cal said leaning closer to John. “Could you do me a favor and look at me while answering yes or no to this question: is your amnesia real?”

“Yes,” John replied. “It is real.”

Cal leaned back in his chair, John was harder to read than most people, almost as hard as psychopaths, but the kid was not a psychopath. Sure, John acted with utter self-confidence that belonged to a man much older than a teen boy he looked to be, but he wasn't a psychopath. Apparently, his amnesia somehow dampened his natural facial expressions. But he was telling the truth; he wasn’t faking it; he was suffering from amnesia. “I believe you,” Cal said.

“Should I be grateful of that?” John asked.

“Most people with amnesia—which is an extremely rare condition—are meek and eager to please others. I believe it is a reaction to the fact that they don’t know themselves, subconsciously they think that others know them and if they just are nice to the other people, they will tell them who they are,” Cal said. “I’ve watched you with the doctors and nurses. You are easy going and very social, but you don’t fear confrontation and sarcasm seems to be your favored form of humor. Which makes me think that you are intelligent.”

“Why is that?”

“The Oscar Wilde quote most people get wrong goes ‘sarcasm is the lowest form of wit but the highest form of intelligence.’ Like I said; I’ve been watching you,” Cal said pointing at the CCTV camera at the corner. “I’ve watched hours and hours of you interacting with the staff. You are an intelligent and very perceptive boy, and if I’m right, you have a natural talent in reading people.”

“Reading people?” John asked.

“Basically, you can tell when people are lying and you often have a good idea why they are lying.” Cal explained.

John smiled at him. “Yeah, I do that. I called it seeing through their act, but reading people sounds better.” 

“When did I lie?” Cal asked curious to know if the kid could detect lies.

“The shit about amnesiac being meek was all lie,” John said. “And when you said that you’re grateful for saving your daughter from sexual abuse… that was a lie too and, if you are her father, I cannot understand why you were lying about that. Why would you not be grateful that your daughter was saved from sexual abuse?”

Cal looked at him for a long moment before he said, “The amnesiac thing was a lie, although I think it probably is true, it is natural for a human being to be eager to please people in that situation. And I am grateful that you saved my daughter, that wasn’t a lie, but I practiced it in my mind before we met. You probably read that it was practiced line and interpreted it as lying because it wasn’t spontaneous. Naturals often make that mistake.”

“Naturals?” John asked.

“People who are natural reading other people, people who can tell when someone is lying or angry or whatever even if they are the best actors in the world.”

“Got it,” John said. “Why did you practice thanking me for saving your daughter?”

“I haven’t actually thanked you,” Cal said. “Thinking how close to getting raped my daughter was is stressful. I’m a dominant personality; I like to be in control of the situation and, more importantly; I want to be in control of myself at all times even when I’m thanking my daughter’s hero for saving her,” he grinned. “And that was the thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” John said. 

“You already said that.” Cal said. While watching the boy to interact with the hospital staff, he’d been impressed how well the kid read people. He was even better than Torres, and that only made Cal wonder how good the kid had been before he lost his memory? “Most people who are naturally good at reading people have been abused as a child.”

“Yeah, well, shit happens, and I still want my memories back. Remembering a child abuse portably will still be less scary than the hole in my mind,” John said. “Why do the exterior doors open inward?”

“Excuse me?” Cal asked.

John pointed at the TV on the wall. “In TV-shows cops and bad guys always kick the door in. When the door opens inward, they only have to break the latch of the lock. If the door opened outward, the doorframe would prevent kicking the door in.”

Cal looked at the muted TV where the cops were entering a drug den, and then he turned to the kid. “If you’d make them open outward the hinges would be outside for the burglar to accessed.”

John frowned. “It would take them longer to break the hinges than it takes to kick the door in. Besides, I’m pretty sure you could design hinges that cannot be accessed even if they are outside. Maybe you could install a shield over them?”

Cal shrugged. “I’m sure they can, but I think people are so used to doors opening inward that they don’t even think about the benefits of having a door that opens outward.”

“You’re probably right,” John said. “Why did you lie that the amnesiacs are meek?”

“I’m a very good actor, and I wanted to see if you would catch me lying,” Cal said. “You scored 97% on the deception test I created, and you have lost your memory. You are a prime candidate for an employee. I want to hire you so that I can train you.”

“No, you want to study me, don’t you?” John asked. 

Cal nodded. “Yeah, I want to study you because you are an exceptional case. Only 0.0001% of the population is naturally as good detecting micro-expressions as you are and the fact that you have lost your memories and thus have no cultural biases is… I don’t think I could ever again meet anyone like you. Hell, I don’t think there ever again will be a case like you. Like I said, I want to hire you, and I’m willing to pay $60 000 a year and $50 000 signing bonus, ”

John turned to look at the TV screen, and Cal examined the boy while he was thinking about his offer. The emotions flitted across his features like a montage of images. What Cal found interesting was that there were no emotions he connected to greed or happiness. The boy was curious. Then, all of sudden his face almost literally lighted up and he turned to Cal.

“Spikes!”[¹] The kid said. “If you put metal spikes on the hinge side jamb and holes on the doorframe then the spikes and the lock would hold the door in place even if the hinges would be broken thus preventing the bad guy to get in.”

Cal snorted. “That was what you were thinking?”

“Yeah, the door thing just bugs me. I still can’t understand why the exterior door opens inward. If you think about the safety of the people living inside the house it makes no sense that the door opens inward,” John said. 

“You weren’t thinking my offer?”

“No, why would have I? I decided to take your offer the moment you told me about it.”

“Most people would have asked more than $60 000 a year.”

John shrugged. “I have no idea how much $60 000 a year is. None of the shows I’ve been watching have actually talked about money except when they talk about drug’s street value or ransom. I have no idea how much sixty thousand dollars is.”

Cal glanced at the door when it opened. “I’m so used to people thinking about money that it really didn’t sink on me that you don’t know the value of the dollar,” he said as two detectives walked in and then he turned back to John. “I was prepared to pay you $70 000, you’ll get it.”

“And the signing bonus?” John asked.

“That too,” Cal said

“Good,” John said. “Besides, what about a situation where you have to leave home fast? Like when there is a fire inside the house. If people rush to the door, then, if it opens inward, it will trap people inside, but if the door would open outward, then the door would still open regardless how many people are crushed against it.”

“That’s true,” Cal said. “You’ve put a lot of thought on this door thing, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” John said. “Like I said; it bugs me.”

The door opened, and two men walked in. Even if Cal had not recognized one of them, he would have known that they were cops the moment he saw them. Cal doubted that neither of them could ever hide that fact. Their profession was ingrained in their body language.

“Dr. Lightman, we need to talk with Mr. Doe,” Detective Hughes said.

“I want Cal to stay, he is an interesting person, and I’ve been told that he is paying my hospital bill and he just hired me, so he has, literally, invested in me,” John said. “Can I assume that it is about the dead man under whom I was found?”

“Yes,” Detective Hughes said. “Tell us what you remember.”

Fifteen minutes later, as Cal watched the young man telling the cops for the sixth time that he didn’t remember ever fighting anyone, he was starting to get worried. Cal could see that John Doe started to become annoyed at the cops asking the same questions over and over again. Thus far the kid had kept his verbal slashes in minimum, but Cal had seen him lashing out to a psychologist, and he knew how sharp and cutting his tongue was. Cal was sure that soon enough John would be pissed enough to use his sharp wit and tongue on the cops.

Cal knew that Detective Hughes could take whatever John would throw at him, but, the younger cop had some self-image issues and insecurities, and Cal was sure that John too had noticed that. If John would lash out at the young detective, the cop might lose his temper, and an angry cop never was a good thing.

Unless you wanted them to be angry and this was not one of those times. Cal decided to step in before John got too annoyed. “I believe that is enough,” he said. “It seems that you are trying to put the blame on John who, as you well know, is the victim in here.”

“He killed a man,” the younger cop said.

“Yeah, however, there are no doubts that it was self-defense and, I believe this is the time for John to tell you that he won’t talk to you anymore without a lawyer present,” Cal turned to John. “I will provide you a lawyer, and I strongly suggest that you stop talking to the police.”

John glared at the young cop. “Yeah, what he says.”

“Listen, Mr. Doe—” the younger cop said.

“Johnny,” Detective Hughes said placing his hand on the young cop’s shoulder. “He asked lawyer this interrogation is over.”

“But, Don—”

“No, that is the law, after the suspect asks a lawyer, we have to stop asking questions,” Detective Hughes said and turned to John, giving him a small smile. “I’m sorry, Mr. Doe, that we’ve been so intrusive, but we have to be throughout even if, as Dr. Lightman says, there are no doubts that it was self-defense.”

“So, this is it?” John asked.

“Yes, this is it for now, at least,” Detective Hughes said. “You cannot leave the town while the investigation is going on.”

“And I have to leave my Colt Peacemaker to you?” John asked.

“Excuse me? You have a Colt Peacemaker?” the younger cop asked.

“No, it was just a joke. I’ve been watching old westerns on TV and…” John sighed. “Never mind, I can see that you have no sense of humor. Just forget that I said it.”

“Guns are not a matter of a joke,” the younger cop said.

“Neither is amnesia, trust me on that,” John said and frowned. “Guns… M21, M3, Madsen, Sten... Christ, what the hell?”

“Excuse me?” Detective Hughes asked.

“M21 Sniper rifle, M3 Crease gun, Madsen M-50, Springfield… I have a long list of guns and rifles that I know how to use and maintain,” John said looking distressed. “They say that I’m in my late teens. How the hell can a teen boy know that much about army weapons?” 

“Great, you probably are a member of one of those paramilitary survivalist gun nut groups,” the young cop grunted.

“Or, he might be enlisted in the army,” Cal said.

“He’s too young for that.”

“He might not be too young, just look at that five o’clock shadow that outlines his jaw and a fit body. He has a young face, but he might be anything between sixteen and twenty-five. You have his DNA sample, you might want to check the military database. If John is a soldier that would explain why he managed to overpower man twice of his size,” Cal said looking at John. “You might be an officer and gentleman.”

John snorted. “I doubt that I’m a gentleman.”

* * *

[¹] When the exterior doors open outward it is [ pretty damn hard to kick the door in.](https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Fdocplayer.fi%2Fdocs-images%2F42%2F6749097%2Fimages%2Fpage_6.jpg&imgrefurl=https%3A%2F%2Fdocplayer.fi%2F6749097-Murtosuojeluohje-2-2.html&docid=Dp9Ke6Xre3ubdM&tbnid=Z8eJ0yC25v0pXM%3A&vet=10ahUKEwie28fb1OnhAhUrz6YKHSx6DXkQMwhuKDcwNw..i&w=960&h=1499&bih=888&biw=1920&q=ovi%20saranatapit&ved=0ahUKEwie28fb1OnhAhUrz6YKHSx6DXkQMwhuKDcwNw&iact=mrc&uact=8)


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special Agent Seeley Booth finds that he has another son. When Xander meets Booth, he gets a memory flash of his previous life. Angela finds Xander from the DMV database.
> 
> **Author's note:** I have no idea how REAL Miranda rights work and I'm too lazy to find out that shit, especially since I will never have any use for that knowledge. All I know about Miranda rights is what I've seen on TV. What I say in this chapter is my view of Miranda (I like that name, perhaps I should write an OC with that name?), and since this is MY story, my view of Miranda rights is the LAW OF THE STORY.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

After Broadsky had used U.S. Marshal Paula Ashwaldt’s account to access police and marshal databases, Seeley Booth, with a little help from Angela and Hodgins, had arranged so that every time someone opened any of his government files it raised a red flag and sent a text message to him. Thus far all the alarms he’d gotten were just regular FBI business, but now he was staring at the laptop screen with disbelief. 

He could not believe what he was looking at.

It was a DNA report. Someone had matched the unknown DNA sample on his DNA. Booth did not understand most of the DNA report, but the bottom line he understood all too well.

**_The probability of Paternity: 99.99997%_ **

Booth printed the DNA report, just to feel it in his hands, things in computer screen did not feel as real as they did when you held them in your hands. Booth reread the report. According to the DNA report, he had another son.

How was that possible?

Booth got back to his laptop and then opened the file of the FBI Agent who had made the inquiry about him. Even though Ben Reynolds had been 'loaned' to a private company, the man himself looked clean. More Booth read about the man more convinced he was that his search was connected to his work.

Booth needed to know if it was true if he had fathered another son.

He called the agent who had put his alleged son’s DNA on the system. 

“Reynolds,” The man answered.

“I’m FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth, may I ask…” Booth frowned, wondering how to ask it.

“Agent Booth, are you calling because of the DNA match?” Agent Reynolds asked.

“Yeah,” Booth admitted.

“I was just about to call you that we have your son at the George Washington Hospital,” Agent Reynolds said. “Since we don’t know if he is adult or not, I need to talk with you—” 

“The problem is that as far as I know I have only one son and he’s ten-years-old,” Booth said. “I have no idea who it is that you have there, but he cannot be my son.”

There was a short silence before Agent Reynolds spoke, “I’m no scientist, but even I know that DNA doesn’t lie. Whoever John Doe is, he is your biological son.”

Booth sighed deeply. “I know that DNA doesn’t lie, but people do, and I want to arrange a new DNA test,” he said, reading the John Doe’s case file. “Now, could you tell me why he is suspected for murder?”

“Oh, that,” Agent Reynolds said. “DA decided not to press charges because the forensic evidence supported the testimony of the eyewitness. It was self-defense and justified homicide. The DA actually said that instead of being prosecuted, your son should get a medal.”

“Huh? Why?” Baffled Booth asked.

“We found the DNA of the man he killed was from the database. The man had raped eight women, and he tortured and nearly killed the last one of them.”

Booth groaned. “Sounds like a serial killer in the making.”

“Yeah, and that's part of the reason why the DA isn’t pressing any charges,” Agent Reynolds said. 

“Okay… So, he won't be prosecuted?” Booth asked, even though he didn’t know the boy or even that he existed, he suddenly felt a need to protect the kid.

“Yeah,” Agent Reynolds said.

“Okay, that’s a good thing,” Booth said. “I’m going to meet him, and I’m taking my own squint with me if that’s okay with you?”

“Squint?”

“Scientist,” Booth explained. “She’ll take a new DNA test from him. No offense but I only trust my own people. I’m sure you understand why I want to make my own DNA tests.”

“Yeah, I can understand that it is a shock to find out that you have an eighteen-year-old son,” Agent Reynolds said. 

“It is a bit of a shock,” Booth admitted. “Can you tell me more about the case?”

“Wait for a moment,” Agent Reynolds said and put him on hold. “I just allowed you the full access to the case files,” Reynolds finally said.

“Thanks,” Booth said, hung up and then he spent a long time reading the case file. After he had read it a few times, Booth leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. His son or not, he respected John Doe. When the young man had heard a woman screaming help, instead of ignoring it or running away like most people would have done in that situation, John Doe had run straight to the danger.

He had gotten badly beaten by a serial rapist almost twice of his size, but he had also saved the girl and somehow managed to kill the attacker with his own knife. Booth couldn’t help it; he was proud of the boy, and he found himself hoping that he was his son. Booth reread the DNA report. It looked like he got his wish; there didn’t seem to be any doubt that John Doe was his son. The doctors estimated the boy to be between sixteen and twenty-years-old. Booth frowned, during that time, he had slept with two women. 

Another one was his old girlfriend, and he knew for a fact that she didn’t have a child. The other one he had slept on his 10-day leave after the boot camp. Booth felt a pang of guilt as he tried to remember the woman, and he only remembered that she’d been a ginger haired girl. He didn’t even remember the name of the mother of…. John Doe.

Booth groaned, he hated to call the boy John Doe. He wanted to find out his name. He took a phone. “Booth,” Cam replied. “I didn’t know that we have a case.”

“We don’t, but I need to meet you because I have a favor to ask,” Booth said.

“What kind of a favor?” Cam asked.

“It is a long story that I rather not talk on the phone, meet me at the Royal Diner in an hour?”

“Sure,” Cam replied.

**∞∞**

John Doe looked at the couple walking into his hospital room. The man had a nervous look to him, which clashed with his obvious alpha-maleness. John wondered what made a man like him so worried and why the woman with him was staring at him with wide eyes.

“I’m Special Agent Seeley Booth from the FBI, and this is Dr. Camille Saroyan from the Jeffersonian Institute.” The man said.

“Pleased to meet you,” John grinned at them. “Hope you guess my name. But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game...” he singsonged. 

“Sympathy for the Devil, Rolling Stones,” Agent Booth said. “I never liked that song.” 

“I just heard it from the TV,” John said, pulling the duvet off and swinging his legs over the bedside ignoring the pain he felt in his legs and side. “And, since I don't know my name I find the lyrics of that song quite amusing.” 

“I hope that you're not identifying as the Devil,” Agent Booth said, “no, don't get up. Stay in bed, I’ve heard that you were badly beaten.”

John shrugged. “Yeah, but I’m bored to sit on the bed.”

“You should stay in bed,” Dr. Saroyan said.

John sighed. “I am still in bed, I’m just sitting. I have broken wrist, ribs, leg, and skull, but none of those prevents me from sitting. It hurts to stay up, sure, but I can do it and I have to get used to the pain. I'm planning to escape the bed any given day now and until I'm fully healed I will be in pain.”

Dr. Saroyan snorted. “Yeah, I can see the resemblance,” she said and walked to John. “I’m here to take another DNA sample to verify the paternity test.”

“I’m okay with that,” John said and turned to look at Agent Booth. “So… does that mean that you are my father?”

“That’s what they say,” Agent Booth said.

“And you want to use your own expert to verify the test result because you don’t trust the initial test results,” John said. 

“It’s not like that—” Agent Booth said.

“I’m not offended,” John cut him short. “The first thing you should know about me is that I seem to have a knack of reading people and knowing when they are lying to me, and it annoys me off how often people lie. So, don’t lie to me, I will notice if you do and I hate being lied to. You want to do your own DNA test, and I think that’s okay, okay?”

“Okay,” Agent Booth said. 

“Since you are FBI agent can you tell me how often you break the law when interrogating suspects,” John asked.

“Huh? I don't break laws,” Agent Booth said. 

“What happens when suspect tells you that he wants a lawyer?” John asked.

“The interrogation is over until the lawyer is present,” Agent Booth said. 

“In TV-shows and movies, cops always continue interrogating the suspects. Is that a common thing in real life?”

“Even though sometimes we can continue to ask questions after a suspect has invoked the Miranda rights that doesn't happen often because one tiny mistake and the DA cannot use anything that the suspect has said,” Agent Booth said. 

“Thank you. If you want to meet me again, you'll learn that I'm going to be asking a lot of questions. Think of me as a big toddler.”

“Huh? Why should I think you as a toddler?” Booth asked. 

“John has lost all his memories. All of them. He has no knowledge about American culture and he has to relearn everything. Which is why he will be asking questions about things you and I take granted. He sort of is a five-year-old boy in an eighteen-year-old boy's body,” Dr. Saroyan explained.

"Exactly, although my psychologist says that I'm learning very fast,” John said. “What happens next?”

For a long moment, Agent Booth was silently looking at John like he was an alien and then he said, “Cam will take some pics of you too. She has a team of scientist that is damn good finding out the names of the victims.

Dr. Saroyan opened her suitcase. “Usually, my team works with dead people, and it is a refreshing change to work with a living person. Open your mouth.” John opened his mouth, and Dr. Saroyan swiped a cotton swab on his cheek. “That was the DNA test, and next I’ll take photos of you.”

“Fire away,” John said. 

“For the record; I think Seeley is paranoid and I trust the first DNA test; you are his son,” Dr. Saroyan said.

“And the comment about seeing the resemblance?”

Dr. Saroyan grinned at him. “Seeley is one of the most impatient patients I’ve ever seen. If he’d gotten beaten as badly as you were, just like you, he too would want to get up regardless how much in pain he’d be,” she said. 

John grinned. “Family trait, eh?” he asked looking at Agent Booth.

“I'm sure that it is a male trait that comes with the testosterone,” Dr. Saroyan said aiming a camera at John’s face.

“He has completely different facial bone structure than I do,” John said, smiling at the camera. “However, we both have the mesomorphic body type, and if I'm not completely wrong, we have similar skulls too.” 

“Great,” Agent Booth groaned. “My son is a squint.”

“Huh?” John asked turning to look at him.

“You sounded like my girlfriend who is a scientist who examines bones," Agent Booth said. 

“I just read a lot and, because of my brain damage my mind stores data to the area of the brain that normal brain uses to..." John shook his head. “Never mind, it would take too long to explain it and I don't really understand it anyway. The point is that because of my brain damage I have an eidetic memory. I remember everything I read and see. Which is why I sometimes sound strange or older than I appear to be.... anyway, would it be a bad thing if I'd be a scientist?”

“No, it just is… no, it’s not a bad thing. I just… I’m kinda…” Agent Booth

“Seeley is an alpha male, and he wants his son to be one too. He’d want you to play ice hockey instead of seeing you playing with a microscope,” Dr. Saroyan said. 

John snorted and grinned at Agent Booth. “If it helps, according to cops, I’m very much a knight in shining armor who rushes to save a damsel in distress regardless of how dangerous it is.”

Dr. Saroyan burst into laughter. “That sounds something Seeley would do,” she said. “He tends to forget his own safety when a woman is in trouble.”

Agent Booth gave John a hesitant smile. “It seems that we share two traits: we hate hospital beds, and we suffer from a severe white knight complex.”

John blinked looking at Agent Booth, but not seeing him. For a fraction of a second, he saw much younger version of Seeley Booth calling himself, “Buffy’s white knight,” he said out loud.

“Excuse me?” Agent Booth said.

John blinked a few times when he suddenly felt overwhelming hatred and disgust as he looked at the older man. “That’s what you said to me. That I’m Buffy’s, White Knight. I don’t know what that means,” he said. “For some reason, I feel like you are a loathsome creature. Emphasis on the word creature. Not a man, but a creature.”

Agent Booth looked to be hurt when he said, “I’ve never met you.”

John shrugged. “Maybe not, but I think that was a flashback. A memory. I’m pretty sure it was a memory, and in it, you were a lot younger.”

“Seeley?” Dr. Saroyan asked.

“No, I have never seen him!” Agent Booth said. “Cam, you know me! Would I have left a woman if she’d told me that she's pregnant with my child?”

“No, you'd stayed with her even if you’d hated her,” Dr. Saroyan said and turned to John. “Seeley would never have left a woman pregnant with his child. Seeley just is not capable of leaving his child behind. If anyone, Seeley is a born father. Are you sure that it was him in your memory?”

“Yeah,” John said. “But the disgust is just a feeling I have. In the memory, he didn’t say anything… hurtful. He just said that I’m Buffy’s white knight.”

“Who is Buffy?” Agent Booth asked.

“I have no idea, there is no memory attached to that name,” John paused. “No… that’s not true. I have a feeling that Buffy… Buffy, Buffy, Buffy,” he chanted, tasting the name and emotions it raised. “I’m not sure what I feel. But she… she is someone important.”

“I’ll tell Angela to search with his DNA, fingerprints, picture and with the name Buffy,” Dr. Saroyan said.

“Tell Angela that he has a Californian accent and the name Buffy sounds just like one of the strange names Californians would give to their daughter,” Agent Booth said sitting down beside John placing his hand on his shoulder. John didn’t know how to react, part of him felt disgusted by the man, and other part wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, after all, Agent Booth was his biological father. “Trust on Cam’s team, they are best in what they do. They will find out who you are.”

“Okay,” John said. “Maybe it wasn’t a real memory, maybe my mother has a picture of younger you and I grew up loathing you because you left us?”

“That might be how your mother has explained it to you,” Agent Booth said. “You really don’t remember anything about your life?”

“Most of it is gone. My therapist managed to get some flashes out of my mind during hypnosis, but most of those flashes don’t make sense. They are just nightmarish monsters trying to kill me. My therapist believes that I was abused as a child and those violent monsters were how I dealt with the fact that the person who was supposed to keep me safe, my father or my mother, was the person who made my life miserable,” John said. “Also, Dr. Lightman says that most of the people with the natural talent to read emotions have been severely abused as a child. To abused children, the ability to read people is a survival trait they learn long before their tenth birthday. So, it makes sense that, if I was abused by my mother or my stepdad and I was told that you left me, I would hate your guts because you left me to be beaten by my abuser.”

Agent Booth grimaced, and John almost felt sorry for him as the man looked at Dr. Saroyan as if asking her support. Then he looked straight into John’s eyes. “My son or not, if I’d known that you were abused, I would have come to take you away from your abusers. I hate men who hit their kids.”

John silently stared at the man for a moment, he could tell that Agent Booth was telling the truth and that he hated the idea of his son being abused. “How badly did he beat you?” he asked with a cocked eyebrow.

Agent Booth turned to Dr. Saroyan, and for a moment it looked to John like two of them were having a silent discussion. Then Agent Booth turned to back to him and sighed. “Only when he was drunk.”

“I didn’t ask how often he beat you, did I?” John asked.

“No, you did not,” Agent Booth said. “Usually, his beatings weren’t that bad, but sometimes he got mad, and he wanted to punish and hurt me. Then it became ugly.”

“Because you protected your mother from your father, right?” 

Agent Booth blinked. “What gave you that idea?”

John shrugged. “I don’t know, it just is the feeling I have when I watch you talking about it. I’m curious to know if I’m right that you got beaten badly because you protected your mother?”

“You are right and wrong,” Agent Booth said. “It was my baby brother I protected, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

John smiled at him. “Basketball, football, or baseball?”

“Huh?” Agent Booth asked.

“I want to spend more time with you. Male bonding, I believe it is called on TV, and it often happens while watching sports and drinking beer,” John said. “Oh, your friend mentioned Ice Hockey, is that your favorite sport?”

“Yeah, I love Ice Hockey,” Agent Booth said.

“Would you want to introduce me to it in the name of male bonding?”

Agent Booth burst into laughter. “Yeah, sure kid, I'd love to do that.”

“Great,” John said. “Before that, can you explain to me why it is called football? They don't use feet, and it isn't a ball... it is... I don't know what that shape is called.”

“It is a prolate spheroid,” Dr. Saroyan said.

“Thanks,” John said. "The game is not played by feet and," he made air quotes “The ball is a prolate spheroid, not a ball. The name football is misleading if not wholly fallacious.”

Booth sighed deeply, took a chair, and sit down beside John's hospital bed. “Okay, I guess it's best if I start from the basics of the game of football… There are two teams of eleven players...”

**∞∞**

“Sometimes I wonder why FBI has a cybercrime unit when they can’t do anything right,” Angela said as a picture of a Driver’s License appeared on the computer screen. “Took me less than an hour to find him from the DMV database. Meet Alexander Lavelle Harris, 18, born and bred in Sunnydale, California.”

“Okay,” Booth said. “That’s a start. Now we know his name.”

“We know more than that, I did a complete background check for him,” Angela said.

“Did you find anything unusual?” Booth asked.

“He’s been interrogated by cops a few times, but not as a suspect but as a witness. He’s pretty much all-American boy.” 

“But? I hear a but coming,” Booth said.

“But his small circle of friends is interesting,” Angela said, and pictures of blond and redhead girl appeared on the screen. “Buffy—that is her real first name—Summers and Willow Rosenberg have been suspected of crimes a few times,”

“What kind of crimes?”

“Arson, computer crimes, and murder, but all charges were withdrawn. The evidence seems to the point that their High School principal did want to get rid of, at least, Summers. After the murder of Kendra Young cops interrogated several other students and most of them said that their Principal hated Buffy Summers enough to accuse her of murder,” Angela said. “Buffy Summers was charged with the murder of Kendra Young solely based on Principal Snyder’s testimony, and later it became clear that he had not even been there when the girl was murdered. Snyder seemed to be a principal from hell.”

“Okay, so, she didn’t kill the girl?”

“No, she was far away from the crime scene,” Angela said. “Who is this kid, and why are you so interested in him?” 

Booth looked at her for a long minute. “Cam did the DNA test, and there is a 99.9% chance that I’m his father.”

Angela’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“Yeah, Oh! Pretty much covers my feelings too,” Booth said. “Don’t tell Bones, I’m meeting her after this, and I’m gonna tell her.”

“Okay… yeah, you should tell Temperance,” Angel said. “And you should tell her soon, this is big.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

“Yeah, I guess you do, it must be a shock to find out that you have a son who’s adult.”

“Eighteen,” Booth said, “He’s a teen, not an adult.”

“Legally he is an adult,” Angela said.

“Still a kid,” Booth grunted.

Angela smiled and then she sighed deeply. “Read the files, there is nothing out of the ordinary in Harris, and none of his friends have been convicted for any crime. But they are a strange bunch of people. I think that they are some sort of vigilantes. I’ll research it more when I have time. Meanwhile, you can read what I found about him and his hometown.” 

Booth nodded, taking the tablet from Angela. “Thanks, Angie,” he said and sat down to read what Angela had found about his son.

An hour later, as he looked at Dr. Temperance Brennan reading the DNA report and John Doe’s medical file, Booth was getting more and more nervous. Finally, half an hour later, Temperance raised her eyes and said, “There is no doubt about it. Alexander Harris is your son.”

“That’s it?” Booth asked. “That’s all you have to say about it?”

“Yes, should I have more to say?” Temperance asked with a cocked eyebrow.

Booth rubbed his eyes. “I meant that you don’t have anything to say about the fact that I have an eighteen-year-old and I told Cam and Angela about him before I told you?”

“That was surprisingly rational thinking from your part,” Temperance said. “Before telling me you wanted to make sure that the initial DNA test was not contaminated or forged, and you decided to use our lab to do that and Angela is very good at the identification of the victims.”

Booth shook his head. “So, you’re not mad at me?”

Temperance looked at him. “Why would I be? As you mentioned, he is eighteen years old; I have not known you that long. You were a virile twenty-two-year-old man when Harris was conceived, and you are a very handsome alpha-male. I have no doubt that you had multiple sex partners during the time he was conceived. There is no reason for me to be agitated by things you did prior we met.”

Booth sighed, sometimes he forgot that his girlfriend’s mind worked mysterious ways. “I should’ve known that you see it that way,” he said. “Did you look at my son’s medical file? Will he recover from the injuries?”

Temperance nodded. “Yes, there are no injuries that will leave him permanently incapacitated. However, the X-rays also show that there are signs of sub-acute metaphyseal fracture, extensively remodeled fractures on ribs, clavicle, and radius. Skull fractures, and subperiosteal bone formations—”

“In English, please.”

Temperance looked worriedly at him. “Alexander Harris has been severely abused as a child. I cannot be sure, but, most likely, the physical abuse started long before school age, and it has continued all through his life. The last injuries happened only weeks before the injuries he got when protecting the girl.”

Anger flared in him, and his muscles tensed. Squeezing his fists so hard that it hurt Booth worked to keep his rage at bay. He wanted to go and visit the man who had hurt his boy. 

“Booth, I know that this is hitting close to home—” Temperance said.

“Too close, my son grew up like I did, and what you’re telling it was even worse for him. My dad, at least, had sober moments and, as hard as he beat me, he never broke my bones,” Booth grunted. “I should’ve been there; I should’ve kept my boy away from that bastard.”

“You cannot blame yourself. You didn’t know.”

Booth felt Temperance’s hand on his cheek, and that comforted a little. But he was still shaken about the revelation that he had a son who had been abused as a child. He knew that Temperance was telling the truth. He had not known about Alexander; he wasn’t the one who hurt him.

But, deep down, he still blamed himself for failing his son.

“It started before he started at the school?” He asked.

“Yes, at the age five or earlier.” 

“What kind of a person would beat a toddler?”

“A violent person,” Temperance replied.

Booth glanced at her, to see if she was serious and when he realized that she was deadly serious, he burst into manic laughter. There was nothing to be laughed at, but somehow her ridiculously accurate comment made him laugh.

The laughter died as fast as it had come.

There was nothing to laugh about.

Booth looked at the Driver’s License picture of the dark-haired boy, it was the first smiling Driver’s License picture he’d ever seen. It was as if the boy was laughing at some inside joke.

How can someone with abusive childhood look so happy in DMV picture?

Abused as a kid, yet he had run toward the danger when a girl had been screaming for help. Booth smiled, the fact that the boy had risked his life to save a stranger told a much about his personality. Until otherwise proven, he’d think that his son was a hero. “I wonder if it would be better if he won’t ever remember his life,” he said.

“The studies suggest that the persons suffering from amnesia are—"

“Are you going to say something positive about amnesia?” Booth asked.

“Um, no, not really, the studies show—”

“Then, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know, I want to think that he’s happier without his memories of the abusive childhood, okay?” Booth said.

“That doesn’t make any sense, knowing—”

“Bones,” Booth said, “sometimes you and your facts can be cruel. So, please, when I say that I don’t want to hear, don’t tell me, okay?”

“Oh, okay,” Temperance said, taking the boy’s school records Booth had just gotten. “This can’t be right.”

“What can’t be right?”

“Alexander Harris was barely C average student, and his SAT score puts him on the 60th-percentile.”

“So? He’s average Joe like me, that’s okay. We can’t all be geniuses like you.”

Temperance raised her eyes to Booth. “You are not average, you have shown that you are quite intelligent,” she said. “What I was saying was that Alexander Harris took an IQ test when he was fourteen, and his score was 129 with a standard deviation of 15.”

“So?”

“That means that he belongs to 97th-percentile,” Temperance said. 

“And that means?” Booth asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“He is more intelligent than 97% of the population. He is not a genius, but he is an intelligent young man. Yet he was barely average in school. How can that be?”

Booth sighed deeply. “Temperance, have you tried to study in an environment where you are all the time in the flight or fight mode?”

“No, I have not, and that kind of environment would cause a terrible amount of stress—” Temperance’s eyes widened. “Oh, I understand, you are talking about his abusive home life; survival was more important than good grades.”

“Exactly,” Booth said. “Child abusers don’t just steal the childhoods from their victims, sometimes they steal the lives from their children.”

Temperance nodded, focusing on the documents again. “Did you notice that his school blew up during the graduation?”

“Yeah, and there is something fishy about the explosion. The pics of the wreckage the explosion left behind doesn’t support the official explanation. I can’t be sure, but to me, it looks a lot like a bomb went on at the middle of the school,” Booth said, that and the death rate of Sunnydale had bothered him a lot. “Could you ask Angela do her magic with the pictures we have and check if it was a gas explosion?”

“Of course. But why would the Sunnydale Fire Department lie about the explosion?”

Booth shook his head. “I don’t know, but I have a bad feeling about it. Angela said that his hometown had a mortality rate of a war zone, and when she tried to research Sunnydale Angela hit on so much red tape that she started to wonder what the hell is happening in there? Something fishy is going in Sunnydale and, since all the files are sealed by Military, I’m starting to feel like I’m Hodgins.”

Temperance frowned. “You are nothing like Hodgins, just your height—”

Booth rolled his eyes. “Sometimes I’m not sure if you’re serious or if you’re just joking.”

“I was trying to make a joke using my commonly known problem about taking things a bit too literally as the punchline,” smiling Temperance said.

Booth chuckled and kissed her. “Actually, that was a good joke, I’m sorry that I didn’t wait for the punchline before cutting you off,” he said. “What I meant is that I’m starting to believe that there is a big government conspiracy behind things happening in Sunnydale.”

“What kind of conspiracy?” 

“I don’t know, maybe I should point Hodgins at it?”

“Point me at what?” Hodgins asked as he walked into Temperance’s office.

Booth looked at him for a second thinking about it, then he said, “Sunnydale, California,”

Hodgins’ eyes lit up. “The Boca del Infierno?”

“The mouth of hell?” Temperance asked.

“Yeah, that’s what it was called by Spanish settlers in 19th-century. Some nuts believe that there is a gateway to hell in there,” Hodgins rolled his eyes. “But the real story is the Sunnydale army base. During the last year, the army has sent a bunch of geneticist and biologists and virologist there. The common belief is that Sunnydale Army Base is a top-secret bio-weapons lab.”

Booth blinked, normally he ignored Hodgins theories, but what he had read about Sunnydale had made him nervous enough to listen to him. “Could that be behind the explosion in the High School?”

Hodgins nodded. “Yeah, there are eyewitness reports that deformed guys attacked on the graduation ceremony. Maybe, you know, some virus escaped from the lab, and the Army blew the school up to kill the virus and all the people who got infected,” he paused. “Why are we talking about Boca del Infierno?”

“Booth just heard that he has an eighteen-year-old son who grew up in Sunnydale,” Temperance said.

“Bones!” Booth said.

“What?”

“Did you have to blurt it out like that?”

“Sorry, I didn’t know it was a secret.” 

“Dude! You have a son who grew up on the Boca del Infierno?” Excited Hodgins said. “Can I talk to him? He must have freaky stories to tell, I mean, sure, they probably are hallucinations caused by army testing drugs on them, but there are great rumors about the town. You know, like creatures from black lagoon walking on the beaches and exploding blue monsters and once the—”

“Shut up,” Booth said. “I want you to write a report about Sunnydale. Facts only, Hodgins, no rumors or legends, I want facts about Sunnydale.”

“Are you commanding me to write a report about Sunnydale?” Hodgins asked.

Booth sighed deeply. “Yeah, but, stay in the facts, keep the freaky theories and rumors out of it. Just facts that you can prove and theories that are based on the real world.”

“On it!” Hodgins said, running out of the room.

Booth shook his head. “He’s going to write a report full of conspiracy crap about Sunnydale, isn’t he?”

“Most likely,” Temperance said. “What are you going to do next?”

“I have to prepare a room for my son. The doctors said that they’ll let him go next Friday.”

Temperance smiled and kissed him. “Have you noticed that you refer to him as my boy or my son?”

“I do?”

“Yeah, I believe that if Sweets would be here, he’d say that emotionally you already are thinking him as a part of your family,” Temperance said.

**~~∞~~**

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Ale)Xander asks questions about the American Gymnophobia (Fear of nudity), and Bones says a few things about American racial stereotypes that might offend some people.
> 
> (Ale)Xander also reveals that he has a crush on Emily Lightman.

“Why are you in a wheelchair?” Parker asked.

Alexander looked at the curly-haired boy, Parker didn’t look anything like him. Nor did he look much like Booth. Both he and Parker must have gotten their looks from their mothers. “I got beaten badly, and I have several broken bones. I’ll be on a wheelchair for a couple of weeks,” Alexander said. 

“Oh, okay,” Parker said, looking at him from head to toe. “So, you’re my big brother?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool, I’ve always wanted a big brother,” Parker said and then glanced at Temperance who had a baby on her lap. “And I’ve always wanted to have a little sister, and now I have both.”

“That you do,” Alexander said. “Our sister is cute, isn’t she?”

“Uh, huh, small though. I didn’t know babies were that small,” Parker said.

“Neither did I,” Alexander said. “Then again, I don’t know much.”

“Huh?”

“I’m sure your dad told you that I’ve lost my memories.”

“Yeah, dad told me. Did you really lose all your memories? Like, you don’t know who you are?” Parker asked.

“Uh, huh, I’ve lost all of my memories. I don’t remember anything. If you ask me, I never went to school, I have never been in the movies, I haven’t seen an ocean… I have done nothing but lying on hospital bed and watching TV and reading. This is the first time I’m out of the hospital.”

“You could show and teach things to him, Parker. You know, like teaching him the rules of baseball and things like that,” Booth said. 

Parker glanced at his father and then looked at Alexander. “You really don’t remember anything?”

“No, but don’t worry, you don’t have to teach me anything. I have people who can do that, and I won’t be competing for our father’s attention with you. I asked Cal’s people to find me a condo I can rent,” Alexander said.

“What? You’re a cripple, you cannot live alone!” Booth said.

Alexander smiled at him. “Yes, I can, and I would not be alone most of the time. I calculated that I can use some of the signing bonus to hiring a nurse for a few months in which time I’ll be mostly healed.”

“You can’t—” Booth said.

“Booth, he is a quite intelligent young man and not an eleven-year-old boy. Threat him as an adult,” Temperance said.

“Fine,” Booth muttered as he turned back to Alexander. “Alex, I hope that you’d stay with us until doc’s tell us that you’re fully healed. That would make me feel much better, and I wouldn’t have to worry about you all the time.” 

“I just don’t want to intrude. You have a new baby and Parker. And I can’t stay here anyway. You don’t have a bedroom downstairs, and I can’t walk the stairs.”

“Which is why we made you this,” Booth said and went to the heavy curtain at the end of the living room and opened it. Behind it was a bed-recess. “You can sleep here, and when you can get up the stairs, we have a room for you.”

Alexander rolled the wheelchair beside the bed that was low enough so that he had no problems getting into it from the wheelchair. Beside the bed was a small bookcase full of books and there was a small TV at the foot of the bed. Alexander turned to look at Booth. “You seem to have thought everything,” he said. 

“Thanks,” Booth said. “So, you’re staying here?”

“If that’s not too much trouble, sure, why not?” Alexander said and then turned to Temperance. “Tempe, yesterday I watched a show where they mentioned Janet Jackson’s wardrobe malfunction. I did some research and… well, I really don’t understand why the sight of her nipple caused such a huge scandal. Can you explain it to me?”

“It happened prime time and—” Booth said.

“There is no logical reason for that, but there is a cultural reason for it,” Temperance cut Booth short, “American culture is paradoxical what comes to nudity and sex. On the one hand, nudity is one of our biggest taboos, and even the nudity of small children who have no modesty and whose bodies are not sexualized is frowned upon. But, on the other hand, America has the most hypersexualized body culture of all the countries I have visited. 

“I believe that the Nipplegate—which I believe is what the incident you mentioned is called—got so blown out of the proportion because it included four sexually loaded cultural elements. Those, of course, are the hypersexualized body culture, racialized and gendered sexuality, and nudity taboo.”

Alexander frowned, looking at Temperance. “So, you’re saying that if Ms. Jackson had been White Anglo-Saxon Protestant, the scandal would not have been as big as it was?”

“I cannot be sure, but I believe that Ms. Jackson’s race was part of the issue. White Americans are hyper sexualizing African Americans regardless of their gender. Also, the public was already a little wary about the Jackson family because of Ms. Jackson’s brother, Michael, and his alleged pedophilic tendencies. That might have influenced the outrage too.”

“Uh-huh,” Alexander said, “is the race reason why there are quite many white celebrities flashing their vaginas to the public, but there aren’t many African American—”

“Please stop talking about sex and races, they're not appropriate subjects around kids,” blushing Booth said.

“I know about sex, and I know what a vagina is,” Parker stated making Booth squirm. 

“As you should, you are old enough to know about sex and safe sex. Sex education should start much earlier than it—” Temperance said.

“Bones!” Booth said.

“What?” Temperance asked, raising her eyebrow. “Parker is eleven, old enough to know where kids come from and he already has had that discussion with his mother, hadn’t you Parker?”

“Yeah, mom explained it all to me when dad told us that Tempe is pregnant,” Parker said.

“And it was about the time for you to hear about sex,” Temperance said, looking at Booth. “In a few years Parker will start dating, and it is best to give the sex education, especially the part about safe sex before it is too late,” she said and turned to Alexander. “To answer your previous question: I believe that the reason why there aren’t nearly as many public nudity scandals about African American women than there are about white celebrity is that America has racial double standards about what is acceptable behavior—”

“Could you two, please change the subject?” Booth pleaded.

Temperance sighed and said, “Alex, we can talk about this later.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that you answer my questions without interrogating me why I’m asking these questions,” Alexander said.

“I answer to your questions,” Booth said.

“Sure, but you have the expression that says ‘Why is he asking that? Is he an idiot?’ Like most people, you don’t seem to understand what it means not to have any memories of growing up.”

“I don’t think that you’re an idiot. I know that you’re brighter than I am,” Booth said.

Alexander smiled at him. “I know that you value me and my opinions, but every time I ask a question which, in your opinion, is a stupid question, the ‘is he an idiot?’ thought flashes through your mind, and then you feel guilty about thinking so. That is why I try not to ask those questions from you; I don’t want you to feel guilty,” he said, “is it true that I’m brighter than you?”

“Yeah, I’m not an idiot, but Bones says that you’re brighter than 97% of the people,” Booth said.

“So, I’ve been told, although, I’ve read enough studies about IQ tests to know that one test doesn’t tell much about person’s intelligence,” Alexander said.

“IQ tests are still one of the most reliable and solid ways to test a person’s intelligence. But I must admit that IQ tests are more of behavioral tests than a scientific way to measure intelligence. Although, if a person takes a few different type IQ tests and gets good points from all of them, then it would give a much more accurate picture of her intelligence,” Temperance said.

“That’s an interesting idea,” Alexander said, “but I still don’t think that IQ test is a good way to measure a person’s intelligence. However, I don’t know enough about IQ tests to start debating about them with you.”

“Thank God for the little favors,” Booth said. “I want a picture of all three of them together.”

“That’s a great idea,” Temperance said, and next Alexander knew he had a tiny human being with huge inquiring eyes on his arm. 

“I, I, uh, what do I… do?” Alexander asked, looking at the tiny baby in his arm. He didn’t dare to move. He barely dared to breathe in fear of hurting the baby. Then he felt hands on his shoulders, and when he looked up, he found smiling Parker standing behind him holding his hands on his shoulders. 

“Say cheese,” Booth said.

When Alexander turned to look at him, the camera flashed. Alexander blinked, and that was when Christine decided to let out a strange gurgling sound. When he looked down at the smiling baby, he couldn’t help himself; he grinned back at her. Alexander moved his free hand to the baby’s face and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You’re a cute little thing, aren’t you?” The baby cooed and seemed to wink at him. 

Alexander chuckled when the baby smiled at him, he felt a strange sort of warmth spreading through him. “Right, it seems that you started the process of wrapping me around your little finger,” stroking the baby’s cheek with his thumb, he glanced at Booth. “Is that the right usage of that idiom wrapping around the little finger?”

Booth snorted. “Yeah, it is, and Christine is good at wrapping people around her little finger.”

“Yeah, she’s good at that,” Parker said. “I have to add your pic on the mobile too so that Christine will know that she has two brothers.”

Alexander nodded. “That she does,” he said, and the next ten minutes, Alexander spent grinning at the baby in his arm. When Temperance took the baby, he sighed; after he’d lost the fear of breaking her, he had loved to hold his baby sister. 

Parker brought his game station down and two hours before the dinner Alexander and Parker were playing the games, and Alexander found out that he was good at it.

“Booth, can I ask you a favor?” Alexander asked while he rolled him to the dinner table.

“Sure, what is it?” Booth asked.

“Can I read my file? I’d want to know more about the man… boy, I was before I lost my memories.”

Booth parked him at the table. “I’m not sure if that is a good idea.”

“My therapist believes that it would be a good idea for me to contact people I knew from my old life. Apparently, there is a chance that it might help me with recovering those memories.”

Booth sighed deeply. “Okay, I’ll ask Angela to show you all the files.”

“Including that disturbing report about his hometown?” Temperance asked.

“Excuse me? What disturbing report about my hometown?” Alexander asked.

Booth glanced at Parker. “We’ll talk about that later, okay?”

Understanding that Parker was too young to hear it, Alexander nodded. “Okay.”

“Good, now, let’s eat,” Booth said.

It was only a week earlier Alexander and Booth had met and only three days earlier he'd met Temperance, and he'd just met Parker. Yet, they made him feel like he belonged to the dinner table with them. Alexander wondered if the others realized how big deal the family dinner was for him. 

Just for a moment, he forgot the terrifying emptiness of his mind.

**∞∞**

The next Monday, Alexander watched Booth and Dr. Lightman standing still. Neither said anything. More than half a minute, they had been just staring at each other. Alexander didn’t know what was going on, but it was apparent that Booth had expected the smaller man to back off when he glared at him. But when Cal Lightman had not backed off, Booth didn’t seem to know what to do next.

“What are they doing?” Alexander asked.

“I’ve no idea, I think it’s a guy thing,” Emily, Cal’s daughter said and then she turned Alexander’s wheelchair around. “While they do that, I’ll give you a tour of the Lightman Group.” 

“I thought that Dr. Foster would do that.”

“Uh-huh, but when every eye was on dad and Agent Booth, it was a good time to escape, and I wanted to get you alone with me,” Emily said.

Alexander sighed deeply. “Booth warned me about you,” he said, “please, don’t tell me that you have a case of hero-worship.”

“Just a little,” Emily admitted, “you’re my hero; you saved me from a rape, and they say that you probably saved my life too. And you’re cute and a very good material for a boyfriend.”

“Emily, I’ve been told that I’m eighteen-years-old and your dad told me that you are sixteen which is underaged for sex,” Alexander said.

“Did I mention sex?” Emily said as they entered into a huge room full of monitors and computers and parked his wheelchair. 

“No, you did not, but you did mention that I’m good material for a boyfriend which would implicate that you have thought about having sex with me,” Alexander said. 

“Okay, Alex, let’s clear the air between us. Yes, I have a slight case of hero-worship, and I do think that you’re cute. But I’m not planning our wedding or anything like that. I just want to get to know you,” Emily smirked, “and what comes to the sex… the age of consent in District of Columbia is sixteen, so I’m not jailbait, and you’re only two years older than me; that’s not really an age difference even in our age.”

“Yes, it is,” Alexander said.

“No, it isn’t, girls grow up faster than boys, and you are amnesiac. So, I’m the more grown-up here,” Emily said. “And it isn’t about hero-worshiping. I’m shallow enough to admit that most of my attraction to you is because you are a cute boy with a great body.”

“Um… I’m in a wheelchair… how do you know that I have a great body?” Alexander asked.

Emily giggled. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yes, I do want to know why else would have I asked?”

“Em came into my office when I was watching a video about you interacting with the nurses, and she saw you naked waist up,” Cal said as he came into the room. “Em, why are you here alone with Alex?”

“I’m giving Alex a tour of the facilities and trying to get to know him,” Emily said. “And no, dad, I’m not thinking him as my bedmate.”

“That’s a relief,” Cal raised his eyebrow at his daughter, “who uses the word bedmate anymore?”

“The daughter of Cal Lightman,” Emily said. “Dad, I’m only giving him a tour, nothing else. Can I do that without you or his family if I promise that I won’t try to seduce Alex right now?”

Cal looked at Alexander for a moment, and then he nodded, “Okay and while you do that, Booth and I are trying to keep Gil and Brennan out of their respective throats. They don’t like each other, and they both have a sharp tongue.”

“Tempe hates psychology, and she respects you only because you are renowned anthropologist,” Alexander said. 

“Yeah, I know, but there is something else behind their hostility than just that. They behaved like enemies at the moment they met. I believe that there is some history behind the two of them,” Cal said and got to the door. “Em, don’t think that I didn’t notice the words ‘right now’ when you said that you won’t try to seduce Alex. I’ll tell Eli to be your tour guide,” he said before he left.

“Damn, I hate it when dad listens to what I say,” Emily said.

“Most girls would be glad if their parents listen to them,” Alexander said. 

“Yeah, probably, but most fathers aren’t human lie detectors,” Emily said. “Why don’t my dad trust me?”

“I think it is me he doesn’t trust,” Alexander said, “and rightly so, I may be an amnesiac, but when I’m with a beautiful girl like you, my mind seems to find very dirty places to dwell.”

Emily blushed and said, “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Yeah, you have symmetrical features and sort of curvy body that probably will be even curvier in a few years as you become a grown-up woman. That makes you undeniably sexy and beautiful,” Alexander said.

“Thanks, you’re easy on the eyes too,” Emily said.

“You are too beautiful to be easy for my eyes. Your beauty is very distracting.” Alexander said. “So, that you know; I’m trying to flirt with you.”

Emily burst into laughter. “In that case… you’re doing fine.”

“In fact, he is a bit too good flirter,” a dark-haired man said and then offered his hand to Alexander. “I’m Eli Loker, your coworker, and I’ll be your third wheel during this tour.”

Alexander shook his hand. “I’m fine with that.”

“I’m more than fine to get away Dr. Brennan and Gillian. Two of them made the room feel like a fridge, which is strange since both are MILF’s,” Eli said

Alexander glanced at him. “What is a MILF?”

“MILF is an acronym that means ‘mother I’d like to fuck,’” Emily said. 

“Oh,” Alexander said, “in that case Eli is right, Tempe and Dr. Foster are MILF’s.”

Emily gently slapped the back of his head. “Make a note: No talking about MILFs when you’re flirting with a girl.”

“Duly noted. Do not talk about older women when in the presence of a young blossoming beauty that dazzles all your senses,” Alexander said, “you don’t just look good, you smell great too.”

“Eli’s right, you’re a bit too good flirter,” Emily said.

“According to Charlotte Brontë I cannot be a good flirter,” Alexander said,

“How come?” Emily asked.

“In Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë wrote that flirting is a woman’s trade, one must keep in practice. She wrote a woman’s trade, not a man’s or a person’s trade, hence; as a representative of the male gender, I cannot be a good flirter,” Alexander said. 

Emily snorted. “Yeah, well, Oscar Wilde said that quotation is a serviceable substitute for wit.”

“He also said that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit but the highest form of intelligence,” Alexander said. “You are my boss's daughter. I don't think there can be anything between us.”

“You think too much," Emily said. “And, as Dostoyevsky said; to think too much is a disease.”

“She hated people who thought too much. At that moment, she struck me as an appropriate representative for almost all mankind,” Alexander said, “Kurt Vonnegut.”

“As long as she thinks of a man, nobody objects to a woman thinking,” Emily said, “Virginia Woolf.”

“Excuse me,” Eli said, “I’m your chaperone, and I want to know if this nerdy quoting game is some sort of strange mating ritual that I should stop before it goes too far?”

“It might be a mating ritual for me, I really don't know. I haven’t yet met a boy who can out-quote me, but if I do I might end up with him,” chuckling Emily said, “I read a lot, and I kinda expect my future boyfriend to love reading too.”

“I too read a lot, mostly because it is one way of me to learn about this society I was thrown at. But I also watch a lot of TV,” Alexander said, “Booth complains about that. He says that watching reality TV isn’t good for our brains.”

“Our brains? With whom are you watching reality shows?” Emily asked.

“Dr. Brennan loves reality shows too,” Alexander grinned at Emily, “although, I’m not sure if she understands that the world _reality_ in the name of the show doesn’t mean that they are documentaries.”

Emily burst into laughter. “Now you’re pulling my leg,” she said.

“No, I really am not, Tempe thinks that Jersey Shore is a documentary,” Alexander said. 

“I don’t believe you,” Emily said and stopped the wheelchair in front of her father. “Uh, dad, we just toured around the place, but I forgot to tell Alex what happens where. I guess we’ll have to take another tour.”

“That can wait,” Cal said, “now we’re going to the lab. We’ve arranged a test for Alex.”

“I thought I have a job already,” Alexander asked.

“Yeah, you have, I just want to test your level of understanding what you see,” Cal said.

They went back to the laboratory full of computers, but this time the room with glass walls in the middle of the place was lighted and inside was Booth and a scruffy-bearded man dressed in black jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt. His arms were covered with tattoos. 

They watched Booth interrogating the man for ten minutes before Cal said, “Your father is very good, he’s detected all lies.”

“Booth didn’t notice that the man lied his first name,” Alexander said.

Cal glanced at him. “What makes you think he lied his name?”

Alexander shrugged. “I have no idea, but I know that John is not his name.”

Cal nodded and leaned on the table, pushed a button, and spoke to the microphone. “John, what is the name your friends call you?” 

The bearded man inside the glass-walled room blinked, and then he said, “Bear.”

“Thank you,” Cal said and then turned to look at Alexander. “He didn’t lie, he’s forty-six years old. He probably got the nickname Bear as a young man, and by now it has been his name most of his life. He’s so used to being called Bear that, emotionally, he considers it as his name even though John is the name in his ID.”

“Oh,” Alexander said. “I didn’t realize that a guy might think his nickname as his name.”

“And that is why you need training. You have the gift, but it needs to be honed, and you need to learn a lot about human psyche,” Cal said and pointed at the Latina woman. “She’s Ria Torres, a natural just like you. Ria, this is Alexander, your new colleague and apprentice.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Alexander said and shook the Latina woman’s hand. “So… you’re a human lie detector too?”

Torres snorted. “Yeah, but I’ve learned that there is much more to it than just that,” she said, opening her back and starting to pile books on the table. “These were the books Cal gave me when I started here. They’re a good place to start learning psychology.”

Alexander glanced at the six books on the table. “I’ve read Atkinson & Hilgard’s Introduction to Psychology.”

“You should read it again, because—” Cal said.

“Do you want me to start from the legal note or from the introduction?” Alexander asked.

“Excuse me?” Cal asked.

“I have an eidetic memory, if a book interests me, I remember every word of it and that book interested me. So, I remember it from cover to cover. Do you want me to start quoting it from the legal note or from the introduction? I can also quote six peer reviews of that book that interested me, and one of them was from Dr. Foster.”

“Remembering it doesn’t mean that you understand it,” Cal said.

“True, I rarely understand things I read, but then I start to study the parts I don’t understand. That’s the way I learn new things,” Alexander said, “but I don’t need to read it again because it already is in my head.”

“Maybe you don’t but read it again and this time make notes about the questions the book raises while you are reading it,” Cal said. “Torres is your tutor, and the first thing she’ll teach you is how to study.”

“Teach me to study?” 

“Cal’s right, learning to study is a talent itself,” Torres said, “took me a month or two to learn to study effectively. Now I learn things much faster than before.”

Alexander frowned, and then he shrugged. “I’m all for learning how to learn things faster. I’ve already learned that I’m not the most patient person in the world.”

“Good,” Cal said, “now that everything is signed, and even Agent Booth seems to be satisfied it is time to end this day.”

On that day forward Alexander started to dream about Emily. He dreamed about her every night. He dreamed about kissing her, holding her, having deep and witty conversations with her. And kissing her. 

Mostly he dreamed about kissing her. 

Three days later, it became worse; he started to dream about Emily even when he wasn’t sleeping. He dreamed about her with his eyes wide open, and it was distracting him from studying the books Torres had given him. Those wide-awake dreams were the worst; his wild imagination created all sorts of scenarios where they both were naked.

Kissing and entangled together. And then those dreams about kissing Emily became very raunchy. Alexander wasn’t sure where those images came from, but the dreams and his constant erection started to really bother him. Especially when masturbating didn’t seem to help. If anything, masturbating only made him want Emily even more. 

“Damn, Emily,” Alexander muttered. “I hope you’re suffering like this too!”

**∞∞**

A week later, Alexander was alone in the house when the doorbell rang. He rolled his wheelchair there and opened the door. For a moment, he stared at the brunette woman, and then he said, “How can I politely ask what you want from the Booth family or me?”

“That pretty much was it,” she said. “so, you are the mini-Booth.” 

“Are you asking if I’m Seeley Booth’s oldest child?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then the answer is; yes, I’m mini-Booth,” Alexander said rolling away from the door to let her in, “and can I assume that you are Angela Montenegro, the forensic reconstruction specialist?”

“Yeah, that’s me, Booth asked me to bring your files, but I’m not comfortable letting those out of the Jeffersonian. Do you mind if I’ll take you to there?” she asked.

“Not at all, in fact, I’d love to see Jeffersonian and Tempe’s coworkers,” Alexander said, “but I’m sweaty, and I need some help with bathing, and my nurse isn’t here. Would you help me?”

“Sure, what do you need?” Angela said.

“Help me undress and get into the chair that is in the bathroom and wash my back,” Alexander said. “I probably should warn you about the fact that I have had an erection since the moment I saw your cleavage. I cannot do anything about it, my penis seems to have its own mind.”

Angela stared at him for a second, and then she burst into laughter. “God! That was a perfect deadpan delivery! I wish Booth had been here!”

“Why? He'd be embarrassed even though I just stated the fact that I have an erection which is completely normal for a heterosexual male.”

Angela grinned at him. “Are you sure you’re not Tempe’s son?”

“Now that you said it, no, I’m not sure of that,” Alexander said, “I know for sure that Seeley is my dad, but I have no idea who my mother is.”

She giggled. “You and Tempe are close, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I like her, she is nice to me and answers my questions without frowning or laughing at me like most people, including you, do,” Alexander said.

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, I didn’t mean to do that. And I didn't deliberately laugh at you, I thought that you were joking, so I was laughing with you,” Angela said.

“Are you feeling guilty enough to give me a sponge bath?” Alexander asked, wiggling his eyebrows. 

She laughed. “No, hon, I’m not going to give you a sponge bath. You don’t need a bath; you are fine as you are. You don’t look dirty nor do you smell bad, you only need to comb your hair, and you’re ready to go.”

“Okay,” Alexander said, “By the way, what is it with my erection that makes women so uneasy? Tempe is the only one who doesn’t flinch when she sees it. Even my nurse flinches and tries not to look at it. That bothered me, and I did some online research; my penis isn’t deformed or extraordinary small or large. It is quite a normal male reproductive organ. So, why is it that normal teen boy reaction to a woman, an erection, makes people so uneasy?”

“I’m not going to answer that, you should ask Booth, it is his job to give the speech to you,” Angela said. “She didn’t touch it, did she?”

“Who and touch what?”

“Tempe didn’t touch your penis, did she?”

Alexander frowned. “No, why would she touch my penis? I’m fully capable of washing it myself. I only have difficulties with washing my back. So, Tempe only washes my back.”

“That’s good to hear, you never know what Tempe thinks appropriate behavior is,” Angela said. “What do you need for the rest of the day?”

“My pills, water bottle, and…” Alexander frowned, looking down. He was dressed in sweatpants and college, “should I change my clothing?”

“No, that’s okay,” Angela said. “where are your pills?”

“In a red box in the bathroom,” Alexander said.

While Angela was in the bathroom, he went to his bend and filled the backpack Booth had given him with books. He wasn’t sure how long he’d stay in Jeffersonian, so he decided to have something to read if he’d have to stay there for long.

Angela came out of the bathroom, put his pillbox into his backpack, and then she stood behind him and started to run her fingers through his hair.

“What are you doing?” Alexander asked.

“Combing your hair,” Angela said.

“With your fingers?”

“No, I’m spreading that hair mousse, trust me. I know what I’m doing,” Angela said. 

Alexander shrugged. “Okay.”

Angela then combed his hair and then ran her fingers through his hair again. After a few minutes, she showed him what she had done. Alexander looked in the mirror, his hairs seemed to be messed up. It looked as if he’d just woken up. “And this is an improvement?” he asked.

“Yeah, the just fuc… uh, the bed hair suits you, it makes you look hot.”

Alexander shrugged. “I take your word for it, I don’t care what I look like anyway,” he said.

“You are a fine-looking young man. You should highlight the best parts of you and your body,” Angela said.

“Why?”

“To get the girls to see you as a potential boyfriend.” 

“I’d like to have a girlfriend. It seems that most of the time, I’m thinking about sex, and that is disturbing. If I’d had a girlfriend with whom to have sex, I might be able to concentrate more on the important things,” Alexander said.

Angela burst into laughter. “Oh, darling, that would not help. You’re a teen boy, having sex would only make you think sex even more.”

“Are you sure? I’d think that having sex would remove the need to fantasize about having sex,” Alexander sighed. “I just got a glimpse of your cleavage, and now I’m thinking about sex with you, and you’re my stepmother’s married friend. And now I'm thinking about sex with Tempe," he groaned, "my excessive sex drive is getting really annoying.”

“God, you’re funny… no wonder Tempe loves you,” giggling Angela said, pulling her shirt higher, hiding her cleavage. “But, trust me on this; having a girlfriend would only make you think about sex with your girlfriend all the time.”

“Huh? I’m already thinking sex with Em and other women... mostly with Em though... all the time. How the hell can anyone get anything done if they’re always thinking about sex?” frustrated Alexander asked. 

“Most of us think sex often but not nearly as often than boys and girls of your age. Your body is still changing and it is full of hormones and your testosterone levels are through the roof which pretty much makes you a sex addict. But in a few years that will be over, and you’ll think sex only half of the time.”

“That would be a huge improvement,” Alexander said, “right now I’m either dreaming about Emily, or I’m imagining us naked and having sex. Some of the things my mind creates cannot be possible. Humans just aren’t that flexible.”

Angela giggled. “You’d be surprised how flexible we can be when in bed.”

Alexander rolled his eyes. “Great, now I’m imagining you doing those things,” he said, “anyway, Emily is all the time in my mind, and it is disturbing my ability to study.”

Angela chuckled. “Seems that someone has a crush on Emily, whoever she is.”

“She's my boss's daughter and I like her, I like her a lot. She’s beautiful and funny and intelligent. I hope she’ll be there in Lightman Group when I start working there. I want to date her, even if Cal doesn’t want me to date his daughter,” Alexander said. “Uh, Angela, Tempe said that you know everything about dating and sex—”

“Of course, she did,” Angela muttered.

“—can you tell me how to talk with Emily and how to make myself look good for her?” Alexander continued ignoring her mutter.

“Sure, I can help you with that and I already started when I changed your hairdo,” Angela said as she picked his backpack and started to push her wheelchair out of the house. “I’m surprised that Booth left you alone while he and Tempe are in LA,” she said after they had gotten into her car.

“Well, uh, he thinks that I have a nurse with me 24/7. Please, don’t tell him that I’m alone in the house. I need some break from Booth, and their trip to Los Angeles gave me a perfect opportunity to be alone,” Alexander said.

“My lips are sealed. But are you sure you can stay alone in the house?”

“Yeah, I’m fully capable of living alone,” Alexander said.

“Except you cannot undress or dress up,” Angela said.

Alexander blushed. “Uh, I can, I just… um…”

Angela giggled. “You thought that it’d be a great excuse to make me touch you while you’re naked, didn’t you?”

“Um… yeah, guilty as charged, please don’t tell your husband or Temperance.”

“…or to Emily if you want to have something more with her,” amused Angela said, “I’ll keep it as our secret. I’m kind of flattered that a young stud like you thinks that I’m hot enough for you to try to trick me to bathe you.”

“Are you kidding me? Your face is even more symmetric than Tempe’s, and your body measures are just perfect. Your big dark brown eyes are one of the most beautiful and expressive that I have seen and I’m including the actresses in the movies and TV-shows. They're not as beautiful and expressive as Em's eyes but, close. You are a very beautiful and sexy woman. Any man, regardless of their age, would be thrilled to have sex with you.”

Angela giggled. “Oh boy, keep that up with all women I’m eager to see what happens when Michelle meets you.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind, you wanted to know how to talk to Emily—"

“Actually, I want to know how to flirt with her. The last time it went well, but back then, I wasn’t at all nervous to talk to her. Now, after I’ve been dreaming about her for a week, I’m… uh, I'm very nervous to meet her again.”

“Well, Alex, the past few minutes you have flirted with me, and you are doing fine. Though I wouldn’t suggest talking about your erection or that you want to have sex with her,” Angela said.

“Why? I mean, wouldn’t it be lying by omission not to tell her that I want to have sex with her?”

“Alex, all the teen girls know that teen boys want to have sex with them. You don’t need to tell that to them. Just stick with telling her how beautiful and brilliant she is,” Angela said, “Oh, and that’s the other thing you should know; always remember to listen to what the girl is saying and what she’s talking about. All girls like to know that you are listening to them almost as much as they like to hear you tell them how beautiful they are.”

“I always listen to what people are saying, and I also watch how they say it,” Alexander said. 

“Right, I forgot that you’re mini-Booth,” Angela said.

Alexander glanced at her. “What do you mean by that?”

“Booth is a very good listening to people, and he also usually knows when they are lying and why they are lying. Tempe told me that you’re like Booth, except that you’re even better lie detector than he is,” Angela said.

“I’ve been told that I’m one of the best, if not the best, natural lie detectors in the world,” Alexander said without any pride. “What is it like to work with Booth and Tempe?”

Angela was silent for a moment. “Most of the time, it is stressful. The cases often are emotional, and they bring up feelings that you don’t want to have when working on a murder case. And Booth and Temperance demand a lot from their coworkers. But that’s okay, they demand even more from themselves. Sometimes we have to remind them that they are only humans. That they are no superhumans.

“Sometimes, I think that I want to stop working with dead bodies and just start making my art. But then I remember how many murderers we have captured and the lives we have saved, and I think that it’d be selfish to stop working in Jeffersonian. I guess that… as stressful as it is, I still love to work with them and others in the Jeffersonian.”

Alexander was silently thinking about her reply for a while and then he said, “The way Tempe often takes things too literally. I don’t have any memories about my life, and even _I_ don’t take things as literally as she does. So, is that an act and if it is why is she doing that?”

Angela chuckled. “No, it isn’t an act. It is her way to deal with things, and she knows more about ancient cultures than about American way of life.”

“It just is strange how she cannot detect sarcasm or irony. In the hospital, I watched this sci-fi show that had a character Mr. Spock, and when I met Temperance, I started to think that maybe she is playing Mr. Spock.”

Angela burst into laughter. “No, she isn’t playing Spock. I’m, pretty sure that she has no idea who Spock is,” she said as she drove the car into an underground parking lot. “Tempe is a strange combination of ignorance and know-it-all. She knows too much about some things and almost nothing about things that most people find interesting.”

“I’ve noticed,” Alexander said.

Angela parked the car and then helped Alexander into the wheelchair. Fifteen minutes later they entered the laboratory, and then Angela introduced him to others. Most of them were eager to meet him, and the next half an hour he was busy interacting with a bunch of people who seemed to know more about himself than he did.

Alexander was somewhat relieved when Angela wheeled him into Temperance’s office, he liked his biological father’s colleagues, but they were a bit overwhelming. He made them laugh a few times, but he had no idea why they were laughing but, since they didn’t seem to be laughing at him, Alexander let it slide without asking what he’d said that was so funny. 

He was relieved when Angela took him to Temperance’s office. “You can see the files in Tempe’s computer,” Angela said.

“Okay,” Alexander raised his eyebrow, “why did Booth ask you to do the background check instead of using FBI for it?”

“Booth didn’t want to use official channels, and I have access to multiple government databases,” Angela said. 

Alexander nodded. “That makes sense. Can I read what you found out about me?”

“Yeah, Booth asked me to bring them to you,” Angela said and handed stack files to him. “These are the background check I ran on Alexander Harris, his friends, and family. Some of it isn’t… nice to read, but Booth said that you can handle it all.”

“What exactly do you mean when you say that some of it isn't nice to read?”

Angela sighed deeply, “You were abused and neglected as a child.”

“I suspected as much,” Alexander said.

“There also is Hodgins’ disturbing report about your hometown.”

“That was the second time someone called his report about my hometown as disturbing. What is so disturbing in it?”

“Just read it, and you’ll find out,” Angela said. 

“Okay,” Alexander said, opening the first file.

The next hour he spent reading the files. There was much more information about him and his small circle of friends than he had expected. Alexander sighed deeply, the files were good, but they painted a perplexing picture of his life before he lost his memory. Most of it didn’t make sense, and the little that did was confusing. 

The report about his hometown was disturbing, even if he ignored Hodgins’ outlandish conspiracy theories. The death rates of his hometown were par with the war zones, and the Sunnydale Police Department reported ten times the missing person cases than town should have had.

That, indeed, was very disturbing news.

After he had finished reading the files, Alexander rolled himself out of Temperance’s office, and then he wandered around, trying to find Angela. The files were good, but the contact information of his friends and family had been removed, and Alexander wanted to call some of the people from his former life. When he found Angela, she was talking with Dr. Saroyan.

“…no. Whatever ran him over had an even smaller turning radius,” Angela said, looking at the computer screen. “I'll do some more calculations and see if I can come up with a precise width of the vehicle's wheel track.”

“Golf cart,” Alexander said, looking at the computer screen.

“What?” Angela asked.

“The most popular golf cart’s front wheel track is 85 centimeters, and the rear-wheel track is 118 centimeters,” Alexander said pointing at the screen. “So, if I’m not mistaking, the wheel track you’ve marked there looks to be consistent with a motorized golf cart.”

Angela looked at the screen, and half a minute later, she said. “Golf cart’s wheel tracks fit,” she said and turned back to Alexander. “How do you know the wheel track of the golf cart?”

“I have an eidetic memory, and six days ago I watched a TV show where they mentioned the wheel track of the golf cart,” Alexander frowned. “By the way, the show’s name was _Pimp My Ride._ Why is improving the car called pimping? Isn’t that a slang term for procurers of a prostitute?”

“That is a good question,” Dr. Saroyan said.

Alexander frowned. “Dr. Saroyan, why did you say that it is a good question when it is obvious that you don’t know the answer to my question?”

Dr. Saroyan sighed. “When people say that it is a good question, it usually means that they either don’t know the answer or they are too embarrassed to give the answer.”

“Then why not just tell that you don’t know the answer?”

“Most people don’t like to admit their ignorance,” Angela said. “Did you read the files?”

“Oh, right, that is why I’m here,” Alexander said. “The phone numbers and addresses were removed. I need the contact info of the people in the files. I want to talk to them.”

“That you should ask from your father,” Angela said.

Alexander sighed. “Tempe is right, Booth is overprotective, and I must set boundaries for him.”

“Huh?” 

“Tempe told me that I have to set boundaries for his overprotectiveness,” Alexander said. “Booth is afraid that contacting my former friends will somehow hurt me, which is why he asked you to remove that information. And I cannot ask him because neither he nor Tempe is answering the cell phone.”

“Oh, right,” Angela said. “Booth said that they were going to visit your hometown. I guess there isn’t cell coverage between LA and Sunnydale.”

“Well, that explains it,” Alexander said, looking at the computer screen. “Are you investigating a murder by the golf cart?”

“So, it seems,” Angela said.

**~~∞~~**


End file.
